American Panda

by Gloria Chao

  I glanced at Esther’s father, whose pinched face betrayed his true feelings about not walking his daughter down the aisle. I wondered why they followed a custom they so obviously despised. Would it have been so terrible for Mr. Wong to accompany Esther?

  Yes, I realized. To them it would have been disastrous. By pushing aside their feelings and bringing Elder Wu, the Wongs believed they were bestowing a lifetime of blessings onto their daughter. They’d made a selfless choice. Ridiculous, maybe, but selfless nonetheless.

  At the front, Xing wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before lifting the veil. Esther bowed to Elder Wu and an usher led the hunchbacked woman to an empty seat. Holding one finger up to Xing and flashing him a playful smile, Esther dashed to her parents and embraced them. I watched them hug with total abandon, her parents squeezing with their eyes closed. None of the Lus know how to do that, I thought.

  But then Xing stepped forward to hug the Wongs as well. No awkwardness. Only warmth. As if it were the hundredth time. Mr. Wong whispered something in Xing’s ear, then patted him on the back.

  Tradition dictated that women leave their families to join the male’s in marriage, but the opposite had happened today as a result of tradition. How ironic.

  My breath hitched as I wondered whether my parents would be present when (if?) I walked down the aisle. Would I have to ask Xing to take their place, as I was doing for him? Could they really let a moment like this pass?

  My gaze fell to the empty space on my right.

  The pastor raised his arms and the guests rose.

  “I will magnify You . . . I will glorify You . . . ,” everyone sang.

  Well, everyone else sang. I wasn’t familiar with the Christian praise song. Xing and I had been raised Buddhist, with idols around the house and yearly visits to the temples. I was glad my parents weren’t present to storm out in protest.

  Once the guests were seated again, the pastor began his monologue. In Mandarin. I peeked over at Darren, but his lips were curved slightly and he appeared to be appreciating the beauty of the language. I wondered what it sounded like to his ears. He heard sounds, while I heard words, sentences, meaning.

  His serene face relaxed my own, and I directed my attention up front. I was finally ready to be a part of today. Ready to enjoy my brother’s happiness. Ready to accept whatever repercussions arose from my attendance.

  Pastor [in Chinese]: Marriage is a huge step. The men have to learn how to listen to the wife nagging and the wives have to get used to their dirty husbands.

 

  Bridesmaid [translating to English]: Marriage can be terrible. The women nag and the men are dir—

  Pastor [in Chinese]: I’d like to share a story with you.

  I wondered if the pastor didn’t speak English or was just impatient.

  Suddenly, the sanctuary doors burst open and Aunt Yilong marched in, a warrior storming a castle.

  With an accusatory finger at Xing and Esther, Yilong filled the chapel with her hoarse yells, which were amplified by the silence. “You murdered Nǎinai! And her ghost will haunt your marriage forever.”

  CHAPTER 22

  MURDERERS

  EVERYONE WAS SILENT, LIKE NO one knew what to make of the clusterfuck that was still unfolding.

  Yilong looked through everyone with unfocused eyes. Her voice was almost too calm as she said, “Anyone here in support of this marriage will have three years of bad luck.”

  Panic struck many faces.

  I wanted to stand and announce it was just a ruse to stop the wedding. That this wasn’t even the first time Yilong had accused a family member of murdering one of her parents. To this day she blamed Yéye’s death on my mother because Xing was named after him—an honor to many, but a death sentence to the Lus. My mother, who hadn’t heard of this tradition, had no idea that her in-laws would believe Xing had to take Yéye’s place to equilibrate the universe. Never mind that Yéye had been dying from emphysema prior to Xing’s conception. No, Yilong treated my mother as if she had forced Yéye to smoke unfiltered cigarettes for thirty years.

  Xing’s voice cut through the strained silence. “Is Nǎinai really dead?”

  I held my breath as my pulse accelerated, the two combining into a dizzy spell. No. The answer had to be no.

  “Yes. You all murdered her. She died this morning because you disrespected us”—Yilong pointed at me—“rebelled”—Xing—“and deprived her of grandsons”—Esther.

  My heart pounded in my ears.

  “Nǎinai died because she was ninety,” Xing said, his words confident but his voice thin.

  “Nǎinai died from heartbreak! She was as strong as an ox, her zodiac sign, and would’ve outlived us all. But no, dead overnight. Because of you! How could you do this after she gave you everything? She loved you the most, Xing! For the last four years, her days were spent staring at your pictures, crying. She didn’t shed a single tear over Yéye, but for you—a river. Was she worth it?”  The pain in Yilong’s eyes turned to anger as she scoffed at Esther.

  Mrs. Wong’s heels banged an angry rhythm as she marched down the aisle, followed by the wedding line. It took all five groomsmen to usher Yilong out, her wails somehow increasing in volume as she disappeared down the hall.

  Darren placed a reassuring hand on the small of my back, but I barely noticed. He said something, which registered only because I saw his mouth move in blurry slow motion. I was too far removed. My mind had shut down to protect me. The background commotion buzzed faintly as if everyone were at one end of a tunnel, and I, alone, at the other.

  Darren’s hand stroking mine eventually returned me to unwelcome reality. I surveyed my surroundings. Xing and Esther were nowhere in sight, and people were conversing in hushed whispers, a frantic burble enveloping the room. Some guests, mostly from the bride’s side, glowered at me. I didn’t blame them.

  Xing and Esther reappeared to a round of applause. They returned to their places by the lectern, Esther’s three-foot train held by her maid of honor (the longer the train, the more good fortune).

  I barely heard Xing’s vows. He slipped a tiny band onto Esther’s finger, and a tear escaped, sliding down his face like a kid at a waterpark. During Esther’s vows, I stared at the resolve in Xing’s eyes. He was completely sure, not an iota of doubt.

  As they leaned forward to seal their vows with a kiss, I clutched my seat, not breathing. In that moment, it would be done, the bond between my parents and Xing completely severed. How could something this significant happen so quickly?

  Their lips met.

  Cheers and whistles exploded from the guests, everyone celebrating. Everyone except me. My eyes flooded, the only sad tears in the building.

  I followed the other guests in a haze, trudging through three blocks of snow to the Chinatown reception.

  “That was a pretty church,” Darren said. “I love the mosaic windows.”

  He was trying so hard I could see his effort, but I could only manage a rumble in my throat that vaguely sounded like mm-hmm.

  He halted, pulling me to a stop beside him. “Mei, I’m really sorry about your grandma. Do you want to talk about anything?”

  Yes. Everything. I would never make up with Nǎinai, who died thinking Xing and I were terrible. Xing would never make up with her, and he didn’t care. There was too much, so I just shook my head.

  The restaurant was even redder than the church, decorated with wall scrolls, paper umbrellas, and lanterns. A red wall displaying golden phoenix and dragon statues served as the backdrop, and in front, on a dais, sat a sweetheart table for the bride and groom, most likely to downplay my parents’ absence.

  I retreated to my table with Darren close behind. In the center, between candles, a paper snake and rabbit—Xing and Esther’s zodiac animals, respectively—stared back at me. I hadn’t realized Esther was two years older than Xing. Yet another thing my parents would disapprove of.

  The newlyweds entered the reception ha
ll to a round of whistling and feet stamping. Esther had changed into a traditional red qípáo with gold stitching, but the conventionally skintight dress appeared a size too big, allowing her a larger range of motion. Maybe it was so she could dance. I smiled with hope that I would get along with my new sister-in-law.

  On top of the embroidered silk, Esther was weighed down by chain after chain—the more gold, the more miànzi for her family. Not enough prestige and the groom’s family won the right to bully the bride. Not so much an issue here—the bullying was already at a maximum, and I was the only Lu present anyway—but perhaps the tradition had evolved beyond its meaning, like how American brides wore white regardless of their sexual history.

  I watched numbly as Xing and Esther kneeled, their hands over their bowed heads to serve hóngzao guìyuán chá to the Wongs. The idea of my future tea ceremony with Mr. and Mrs. Wong’s smug expressions on my own parents’ faces made me choke on my shark fin soup. Except . . . we wouldn’t even make it that far.

  I barely noticed the first four courses. But since it was the typical Chinese wedding banquet with ten rounds of the most elaborate, expensive delicacies (again, it was all about that miànzi), I had six more to get myself together.

  I recognized the next course, swift nest soup, from stories I’d heard from Nǎinai. Her point had always been how delicious and rare the dish was, but all I ever heard was how the nests were made of solidified bird saliva.

  I shoved it aside with a pinky (for minimal contact), then pushed Darren’s away as well. Under the table, I broke out my hand sanitizer.

  He tilted his head at me. “What is this? Do you not like it?”

  I shook my head at him and mouthed, Just trust me. Who knew what kinds of diseases were floating around in there?

  The elderly guest next to me leaned uncomfortably close, shaking a judgmental finger. “That’s the most expensive dish. Don’t be rude.”

  “We’re allergic,” I lied.

  Her face brightened as she reached over my arm to swipe my bowl.

  The next course wasn’t much better: sea cucumber. As I pushed the luxurious booger around my plate, the guests clinked glasses amid laughter and chatter. So rè’nào. But all I could do was imagine Yilong here, screaming, How can you all celebrate after Nainai just died? Murderers!

  Xing and Esther began making the rounds, coming to our table first. I stood so fast my chair almost tipped over, but I caught it in time. Esther smiled hesitantly at me, and it made me feel better to know she felt the same anxiousness that was making my palms sweat. I pulled her into a hug, partly because my hands were clammy and disgusting, but also because it felt like the right thing to do.

  Her gold necklaces felt cold against my warm cheek, and her flowery perfume overwhelmed my nose. Jasmine. My mother’s favorite. How ironic.

  “I’m sorry about everything,” she whispered in my ear.

  I squeezed harder and felt some of the tension leave her body.

  “You must have ginormous expectations of me, the girl Xing left his family for,” she said. “Those are pretty big shoes my size-six feet can’t fill.”

  I laughed into her hair, and our bodies shook together in relief, pain, and celebration.

  When Esther and I separated, Xing’s eyes met mine, and we just stared at each other for what felt like forever. I could see the pain and weariness in his eyes, but there was no remorse. He placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing, and I nodded once to signal my love, my solidarity, and so much more I didn’t even comprehend yet. Somehow, the exchange felt even more intimate than a hug.

  The moment broke when the swift nest hoarder pulled Xing away to congratulate him.

  Darren and I loaded up on abalone in black bean sauce, stir-fried lobster, and pork fried rice—the safest options. Despite the mound of food on my plate and my Lu blood, I only stomached a few bites.

  I swallowed hard, my fifth spoonful of rice catching in my dry throat. “Darren, I think I’m going to head home.”

  “Right now? But we haven’t danced yet.”

  I couldn’t dance here, in public, to celebratory music. I needed Mr. Porter. I needed to scream, punch, and stomp. Xing would understand.

  I collected my things and stood. “Thanks for coming with me. I’m sorry it was such a disaster.”

  “Mei, wait! Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll take you home.”

  I nodded, then scurried out the door, assuming he was close behind. The cab ride was silent—awkward this time—with Darren sneaking worried glances at me as I pretended not to notice.

  As we neared campus, I finally spoke—to my lap, because I was unable to look at him. “I’m really sorry about today.”

  He grabbed my limp hand. “I’m here for you, Mei. You’re not alone.”

  “How can you even want to be in the same car as me after seeing my aunt?”

  He puffed out a breath, the fog disappearing as quickly as my happiness had. But before he could say anything—I didn’t think I could take it, whatever it was—I slipped my palm from his, reluctant but determined.

  “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” I forced my gaze to meet his. “I’m doing this for you, so you don’t have to go through what Esther did. I think it’d just be easier. For your sake. For both our sakes.”

  “When are you going to stop fighting who are you? What you want?” He shook his head over and over. “Don’t do this.”

  We pulled up to Burton Conner. “I’m really sorry.”

  I exited the car before he could stop me, and before I could change my mind.

  Voicemail from my mother

  Mei? It’s your mǔqīn. Bǎbá doesn’t want you to come. I’m not the one who told you this, but . . . the Chuang Funeral Home. In Chinatown. Saturday at noon. Come late and sneak in so he doesn’t see you.

  CHAPTER 23

  GOOD-BYE

  I TOOK MY MOTHER’S ADVICE and went to the funeral late so I could slip in with the crowd, hopefully unseen by my father and aunt. In what screwed-up world did the granddaughter have to sneak into her grandmother’s funeral to hide from her family? But today wasn’t about all that crap. It was about saying good-bye to Nǎinai.

  “What are you?” the cabdriver asked me in an Eastern European accent. “Like, as in, ethnicity.”

  “Chinese.”

  “No, you can’t be. You much too big to be Chinese.”

  “Well, you’re too rude to deserve a tip.” Why did everyone think anything above size zero was obese for Asians? I glared at him, hoping he would see in the rearview mirror.

  Fifty dollars later, I arrived at the funeral home. I was too spent to argue with the jerk about driving ten miles out of the way. I threw cash in the front seat as I exited, no tip as promised.

  Outside the funeral home, I paused. The pagoda-shaped entrance was from one of my two worlds, the one in which I didn’t belong.

  I looked at the buildings across the street, outside Chinatown. Tufts Medical Center. The W Hotel. McDonald’s. I didn’t belong in that world, either.

  Roommate number one’s harsh words echoed in my mind, reverberating louder and louder. Even my grandparents hadn’t belonged anywhere, driven out of China by the Communists, yet foreigners in Taiwan. Maybe I was destined to be lost, just like them.

  My legs numbly carried me inside. The funeral home was dark and I relaxed slightly. The dimness matched my mood and masked my presence, almost as if I were a bystander, watching instead of partaking. I felt like an intruder.

  The memorial service had begun, and the small space was filled with vaguely familiar faces. Despite the cold, the door was propped open so Nǎinai’s spirit could come in. The guests chanted amid the chiming of bells, and the discordant sounds mixed to become, somehow, concordant. Cloaked by the darkness, I slipped through the sea of black to the back corner. Sticky-sweet smoke filled the room and my lungs as guests approached the casket one by one to bow and light their incense. Before rejoining the crowd, they jumped over a fire
and ate a peanut to cleanse their soul.

  These traditions—they were about respect. Devised to mean something, like how an engagement ring symbolized commitment and a wedding ring, love. The more traditions you were willing to go out of your way to do, the more you respected the deceased. For a family who didn’t stress affection or communication, maybe this was the only way to convey emotion. They believed Nǎinai’s soul was here, watching, so in death they were finally ready to show how much they cared. I would’ve felt so much better if I could believe Nǎinai to be here, listening, so I could have one last chance to make amends. But to me she was gone.

  Someone wailed in Chinese, “Huílái ba,” over and over, trying to guide Nǎinai’s soul home. The dissonant phrase, louder, longer, and more urgent than the chanting, broke through my thoughts and returned me to the present.

  The room hushed, and the guests filed out the open door into the courtyard to burn paper clothes, mansions, and furniture for Nǎinai to have in the afterlife. If an insufficient amount was burned, Nǎinai’s impecunious soul would haunt her family and friends’ dreams in revenge, complaining of hunger and cold.

  I remained in my hiding spot until the room emptied. And finally, I took a step out of the darkness into the candlelight.

  Nǎinai’s abandoned walker was parked beside the open casket, a single black bow looped around the handles. A lump formed in my throat.

  The altar on the far wall was filled with ceremonial bowls, incense, and Nǎinai’s favorite snacks—oranges, mooncakes, and red bean bāos. Between the food, there appeared to be trash, and I wondered why no one had cleaned it up. I crept over to clear the litter and add my offering to the rest.

  Upon closer inspection, the scraps of paper and worn trinkets weren’t garbage—they were memories. A crumpled picture of Nǎinai, clearly well loved and often looked at through the years. A receipt from a dinner for two. Figurines of oxen, Nǎinai’s zodiac year and therefore her favorite animal. Maybe Yilong’s hoarding was more than met the eye—it was a way for her to express herself. Similar to how my father showed his love by demanding Nainai’s funeral be here, close to the joint cemetery plot he had purchased years ago after Yéye’s death.